The Bastard's Son

by H A CULLEY

  Tristan nodded to thank him for his encouragement, checked his mace, and then they were off, walking at first and then increasing the pace to a trot and then a slow canter. As they picked up the pace a little everyone strived to keep his knee in contact with the man on his left and right. That way they would hit the enemy shield wall as a solid mass. As the canter changed to a gallop when they were a mere hundred yards from their quarry the lances came down from the vertical to the horizontal and Tristan couched his with the point aiming at a Scot directly to his front.

  The man was wearing both helmet and hauberk so was presumably an important man. His circular shield was painted with alternating segments of yellow and black. It covered his body, leaving only his head and legs visible. The helmet was similar to Tristan’s: a conical pointed type shaped from one piece of steel with a nasal guard riveted to the front. Only the man’s eyes were visible above the rim of his shield. His lance was pointed directly at the centre of the shield but, at the last moment, he raised it fractionally so that it pointed at the top rim of the shield. The man’s eyes were too small a target but the point slid off the top of the shield as Tristan had intended, grazed the nasal guard and entered the Scot’s left eye. The eyeball exploded and the point carried on into his brain. The force was such that it exited his head, smashing his skull in the process and sending his helmet spinning away, hitting the man behind and to his right a thumping blow.

  The lance’s momentum hurled the dead man back into the men in the two ranks behind him but by that time the young knight had let go of his lance and grabbed his mace. Whilst his destrier reared up and kicked out with its front hooves, knocking more stunned men down, Tristan brought his mace down onto the head of another Scot. The felt a massive thump which numbed his left arm and he nearly let go of his shield.

  By now the horns were blaring the recall and Tristan pulled back on his destriers reins with his left hand whilst hitting out with his mace at a man who was trying to pull him from the saddle. His horse backed out of the melee, as it had been taught, but it gave another man who was trying to grab its bridle a nasty bite. Then he was clear and he turned his destrier to ride back to his own lines.

  Most of his conroy made it back safely. Bertram had a flesh wound to his leg and went to the rear so that his squire could clean it with water and sew it up. One of the Durham knights had been killed as had one of his serjeants. It was a small price to pay for the havoc they had wreaked on the Scots’ shield wall.

  Simon came riding up on his rouncey with a fresh lance, as did the other squires. Five minutes later the line of horsemen advanced again. This time the Scots were more wary and far fewer insults were hurled at the advancing English cavalry. A few of them panicked and threw their spears, only one of which hit home, killing a courser and tumbling its armoured rider into the dirt. This time Tristan was faced with a giant of a man wearing no armour apart from an old-fashioned segmented helmet with no nasal guard. He had a targe strapped to his left arm but he was wielding a long Norse battle axe with a blade on either side at the top of the haft.

  Tristan had no difficulty in thrusting his lance into the man’s fat belly as he hoisted the axe over his head but, even though he was fatally wounded, he still managed to bring the wicked axe down, splitting the destrier’s skull in two. His mount sank to its knees and Tristan just managed to jump out of the saddle before it collapsed onto its side. Had he not managed to do so he would have been trapped by the horse’s dead weight on his leg and would have been easy prey for anyone with a dagger.

  He stood there disorientated for a moment and then a Scot leaped at him, sword raised to strike him down. His shield was still strapped to his left arm and he brought it round just in time to take the blow. His mace was hanging from its leather strap from his other wrist and he flicked it up so he could grip it. Then, without a pause, he brought it around to drive one of the spikes into the body of his assailant. The man yelled in pain and clutched his side. Not only was he badly wounded but the mace had broken several ribs, one of which had pierced a lung.

  He dropped to the ground and then another two Scots attacked him but they never reached him. Fulk interposed his horse between them and Tristan and yelled ‘run’ as he cut one of the men down. Tristan did so, not very fast – that wasn’t possible wearing a hauberk, gambeson and helmet and carrying a shield, mace and sword weighing over fifty pounds in all. However, he made it clear before a spear whistled past his head, urging him on. Then Fulk caught him up. He pulled up and helped Tristan climb up behind him before they rode back to join the rest of the conroy.

  ‘You’d better go back and get Simon to clean you up and sew up those cuts,’ Fulk told him as he helped him to dismount.

  It was only then that Tristan noticed that he was bleeding from two cuts in his left leg and one in his right arm below the end of his chain mail sleeve. He nodded but, before he could go and find him, his squire rode up with Tristan’s spare courser and they rode back to the baggage train together so that Simon could deal with his knight’s wounds.

  He heard what had happened later from Fulk and Bertram. The two cavalry charges had disrupted the Scots footmen so that when the English archers were sent forward again they had more luck in causing significant casualties to the Scots. This so incensed them that a few groups charged at the archers to try to get to grips with them. The archers retreated and the knights and serjeants went in again, doing further damage to the disorganised rabble that the Scots had become. By the time that William had sent his infantry forward there wasn’t much for them to do. The Scots broke and fled.

  -X-

  Tristan led his conroy up Liddesdale looting and burning as they went. William was intent on pursuing Malcolm Canmore back into Lothian and all the way up to Edinburgh. However, when Malcolm reached Berwick he asked for a truce instead of turning north. He wanted to save Lothian if he could.

  The two kings met at Kelso and Malcolm paid homage to William for the manors he held in England. William chose to interpret this as acknowledgement that the King of Scots was his vassal but Malcolm was quite clear in his own mind that he was only paying fealty for his English lands. They agreed a truce and the Scots ceded Cumbria to William.

  William and his brothers made their way over the ford at Norham and back into England feeling pleased with themselves. However, they left behind a resentful Malcolm Canmore who was already planning his revenge.

  Chapter Ten – The Year of the Grim Reaper

  1093

  William Rufus was dying, or so he believed. In early March 1093 he contracted a strange fever whilst he was at his manor of Alveston about to cross the River Severn into Wales via the Aust ferry. He kept vomiting and voiding his bowels, gradually becoming weaker and weaker.

  He was taken on a litter to Gloucester Castle, some twenty five miles to the north, where the monks from the abbey could look after him properly. They managed to stabilise him but William was convinced that he was still on his deathbed and that God was exacting revenge for his sinful behaviour as king. He became determined to repent and make amends and he was reminded of his coronation pledges to protect and defend the church, to abolish simony, to repeal unjust laws and persecute those who flouted common law, none of which he had paid much attention to so far.

  From his sickbed he went further and ordered the release of prisoners, the cancellation of debts owing to him and he pardoned all those who had offended him. He was ill for the whole of Lent and he decided to appoint Anselm of Bec as Archbishop of Canterbury, a move to which he had previously refused to agree, in the hope that this would appease God.

  Anselm pretended some reluctance to accept, despite his early request for the Pope to intercede on his behalf, but eventually he agreed subject to certain conditions. William agreed to them without hesitation, including the appointment of a new bishop to the See of Lincoln, another bishopric which he had also kept vacant so that he could keep the income from the associated manors for himself. Later he would come to resen
t having given in so easily and blamed Anselm for taking advantage of his fear of imminent death. It did not bode well for their future relationship.

  By the middle of April William had recovered sufficiently to embark on a campaign in South Wales. The land of Wales was divided into a number of petty kingdoms and the most prominent ruler in the south had agreed a truce with King William the First. However, he had just been killed by a rival and during the ensuing infighting amongst the South Welsh for the vacant throne William Rufus invaded and established Norman baronies in Pembrokeshire, Cardigan and Carmarthen. He then turned his attention to Gwyneth in North Wales but the campaign there wasn’t nearly so successful. The elusive Welsh kept retreating into the high moorland and the Snowdonia Mountains before emerging again to make pin prick attacks. William had just decided to retreat back to England before the onset of winter when he received tidings of further problems on his other border.

  Malcolm Canmore opened his campaign by crossing the Tweed at Northam to invade England again in October. This time, instead of heading towards Wooler and Glendale, he stuck to the coast and rampaged past the impregnable stronghold of Bamburgh Castle and headed for Alnwick. However, the Northumberland barons were ready for him. As soon as they heard that he was mobilising another army they sent the women, children and old men into the hills with their livestock and mustered at Ivo de Vesci’s newly built timber castle at Alnwick.

  At the same time as Hugo, now fully recovered, and Roger de Muschamp were heading south Roger Mowbray, Earl of Northumbria, headed north from Newcastle and Odinel d’Umfraville came up from Prudhoe. Altogether four thousand men had gathered there by the time that Canmore was reported to be five miles away.

  ‘We can’t fight an army three times the size of ours!’ Odinel protested.

  ‘Yes we can, if we surprise them,’ de Mowbray countered.

  ‘And how exactly do we do that?’

  ‘By not being here when they arrive,’ the earl said smugly, catching Hugo’s eye, whose plan it was.

  ‘You’re abandoning Alnwick?’ asked de Vesci incredulously. ‘You cowards!’

  ‘Calm down, boy!’ the earl told him sharply. ‘No-one is abandoning you but if you call me a coward once more I might well kill you myself.’

  ‘I beg your pardon, my lord. Perhaps you’d better explain what you have in mind?’

  ‘Very well. We need to catch the Scots off guard. If we meet them in open battle than they’ll outnumber us three to one, as Odinel has said so eloquently.’

  D’Umfraville looked at him, trying to work out if he’d just been insulted but the earl pressed on.

  ‘So our one chance to take them unawares. We let them set up camp in front of your castle and start to besiege it. The rest of us then attack them at dawn and panic them and, hopefully, manage to capture or kill Canmore. That should send the rest of them running back to their own benighted country.’

  He turned to Hugo.

  ‘I want you and your conroy to concentrate on locating and capturing King Malcolm. Ignore everything and everyone else and make for the tent with the yellow banner with a black galley on it.’

  Hugo nodded. He and de Mowbray had already discussed the important part he was to play in events on the morrow.

  -X-

  The day dawned dank, misty and chilly. Hugo accepted Simon’s cupped hands to help him mount his new destrier and he realised with a pang of regret that he wasn’t as young as he used to be. He took the proffered lance from his squire and then looked around at his conroy of ten knights and a dozen serjeants, six of whom carried loaded crossbows. He nodded at them and turned to face towards where the Scots were camped.

  Alnwick castle was located on top of a slight rise just outside the town itself. The Scots encampment stretched from the River Aln to the north of the castle to just out of range of the castle walls.

  ‘Sir Hugo, the earl asks that you delay your attack until the mist lifts slightly and you can see where the Scottish king’s pavilion is.’

  ‘When will he attack? I don’t want to find myself charging into thousands of Scots on my own.’

  ‘Can you just make out the de Mowbray banner in the dip in the ground over there?’

  ‘Yes, just.’

  Hugo strained his eyes to try and discern whether the grey banner he could see was a white lion rampant on a red ground but the limp piece of cloth could have been anything. As he looked the banner moved slightly and he realised that a slight breeze was beginning to clear the early morning mist away. As it did so he could make out more and more of the large Scottish camp. He had hoped that the king’s pavilion might be situated near the river, away from the bulk of the army and close to water. It would have been where he would have sited himself had he been an army commander.

  He was not disappointed. One or two were beginning to stir; many just to stagger outside their tents and piss a yard or so away from it. Few of those who were already up and about were armed. Those sentries that there were had clustered around the few campfires that servant boys had got going to warm themselves. Then the mist cleared enough for him to see a large pavilion just where he had expected it to be. He couldn’t make out the banner from this distance but he was certain it would be the black galley on yellow that was the personal device of the King of Scots.

  He looked over towards where the messenger had gone and saw the de Mowbray banner wave to and fro. It was time to go. He raised his lance in the air and half lowered it towards the pavilion by the river before walking his destrier forward.

  The rest of his knights moved into a wedge formation with Hugo at the apex and the crossbowmen took up position on either flank. The other six serjeants fell in behind Hugo to give the wedge formation some weight. They increased their pace to a canter as they entered the mass of tents and men sleeping on the bare ground. Hugo’s orders had been to ignore the Scottish soldiers and make straight for Canmore. The only people they killed or wounded were those impeding their progress, whether inadvertently of deliberately.

  As they neared the pavilion more and more men tried to stop them. By now their progress had begun to alarm the Scots commanders and they realised that their king was the target. At that moment a man wearing a hauberk and a helmet appeared from the pavilion strapping on a sword belt. He was accompanied by another young man similarly attired and two boys of about sixteen or seventeen ran up leading two destriers.

  The squires were handing their masters their shields and lances and Hugo saw with satisfaction that both bore the black galley on yellow of the House of Dunkeld. The two men could only be Malcolm Canmore and his second eldest son, Prince Edward. As Hugo and his men got within three hundred yards of their quarry more and more Scots ran to intercept them. Most of these were on foot and poorly armed and they were easily dealt with. Then half a dozen knights charged into the side of the wedge. The crossbowmen had managed to hold their fire until now but they had little option but to use their weapons or be cut down. All three on that flank managed to hit either a knight or his horse but the other three kept coming.

  There was no time to reload a crossbow, an impossible task without dismounting in any case, so the three serjeants let go of their weapons and either got a grip on their horseman’s axes or drew their swords.

  ‘Don’t be bloody fools,’ Sir Alain yelled at them. ‘Drop back and join the other serjeants in the middle of the wedge. Leave these three to us.’

  With that he, Flavian and Clovis wheeled out of the wedge and charged the approaching Scottish knights. Like those opposing them, the Scots were Normans but ones who had gone north of the border seeking land, willing to give their oaths to Malcolm Canmore. Two of them paid with their lives as they misjudged their attack and were killed by Alain and Clovis. Flavian wasn’t so lucky. His opponent’s lance glanced off of the top of his shield and was deflected into the unprotected part of his face, piercing his cheek, smashing the bone and piercing his brain. Flavian was dead before he knew that he had failed.

  C
lovis dropped his lance and drew his sword. He smashed it down on the one surviving Scot’s shoulder, breaking the bone. The knight clutched at it before fainting with shock and falling off his horse. Having dealt with the threat, tempted as they were to collect the arms and the horses as their prizes of war, Alain and Clovis were mindful of Hugo’s instructions, and of a large body of Scots running towards them on foot. They turned and galloped away to catch up with the rest of the conroy.

  Several Scottish knights and serjeants charged at them to halt their advance but they hadn’t stopped to get into formation and, although another of Hugo’s knights was killed, they burst through them and Hugo found himself facing King Malcolm. The latter lowered his lance and both he and his son charged straight at Hugo. He was conscious that Bertram had moved forward alongside him to face the younger of his opponents and he concentrated on the Scottish king.

  His aim was to dismount him and take him prisoner but, just as he was about to couch his lance, another knight rode into view. This one appeared to be another Scot; certainly he didn’t recognise his shield. The knight grabbed the reins from the king’s hands and forcibly led him away towards the river. Hugo watched with frustration as the two reached a shallow spot just before a weir and proceeded to splash across the Aln.

  Meanwhile Bertram had engaged Prince Edward but the younger man was too agile for him. He managed to change the direction of his thrust at the last moment and the point of his lance slipped past Bertram’s shield. It split the links of Bertram’s chain mail apart and pierced his heart. Enraged at the death of his captain, Hugo acted without thinking and aimed his lance at the young prince’s unprotected side. The point smashed into his body, breaking several ribs and piercing a lung. It was a fatal wound and the young man toppled from his horse.